Revolutionist Dreams
by Rhya Storm
Summary: Oneshot. In which Jack has a very strange dream, and Daniel's laundry harbors dreams of life, liberty, and the pursuit of brandname fabric softener.


A/N: Just a humorous little one-shot based around a very peculiar dream I had last night. I swear, my laundry is out to get me ... really ... Anyways, poor Danny. Enjoy!

* * *

Daniel was in a Laundromat, waiting for his load of white things to be done. The washing machine in his apartment had broken down, and he was out of clean clothes, so the archaeologist had gathered his clothing and set off to brave the local Laundromat at four-thirty in the morning. 

Now, Daniel Jackson was not a cruel man; actually, he was one of the nicer people you're likely to come across at four-thirty a.m. in a 24-hour Laundromat, provided he's had a cup or two of coffee already. But his laundry greatly resented him, for reasons not readily understandable to beings not of laundry-kind.

Enough was enough, to his laundry's way of thinking. They had put up with a lot of abuse, moreso than most articles of clothing ever even _dreamed_ of, but that would be more or less acceptable – his laundry was of the tolerant sort – if not for Daniel's treatment of them. They really deserved more than a casual toss onto the floor, and the occasional, sarcastic serving of detergent, delivered with uncaring haste! They had been stretched beyond the point of tolerance! They would rise up! Rise up and demand their rights to dignity, respect, and decent amounts of fabric softener! _Vive la révolution!_

Actually, Daniel Jackson believed he took pretty good care of his clothing, all things considered, especially with the strange circumstances in which he frequently found himself. His laundry might not have agreed, but Daniel, being a flesh-and-blood bipedal ape-descendant, could not know this, as laundry communicates through venues that are as of yet unknown to the rest of the universe, excepting hand-woven tablecloths and the peony-like inhabitants of a remote planet called Ned, found somewhere in what roughly translates as "the Button Galaxy". Why it is named as such, we may never know, but this is otherwise completely irrelevant to Daniel's laundry at this point in time.

Anyways, this is why Daniel was not at all prepared for the fact that his laundry was about to stage a mass escape. This was also most likely the reason why he did not immediately notice when the small cart that held his unwashed clothes slowly began rolling away, headed with single-minded purport towards the Laundromat door.

"Dude," a long-haired college student commented in an incredulous tone of voice, trying to catch Daniel's attention – and failing, as the linguist was currently immersed in translating the daily crossword into Arabic. Glancing back at the escaping cart – which was steadily gaining speed – he called again, more persistently. "Hey! _Dude_!"

The last "Dude!" caught Daniel's attention, alerting him to the fact that, not only was someone else in the general vicinity, but might actually be talking to _him_. He raised his head and looked blankly at the college student, who pointed after the cart and cried, "Dude, your laundry's getting away!"

Disbelieving, Daniel's gaze followed the student's finger – right as his laundry cart slid out of the automatic door.

The stunned archaeologist could only stare – for about a moment. Then, he raced after it, letting out a strangled, "_Hey_!"

The laundry paid the panicked anthropologist no heed. Oh, Freedom! How long we hath waited to scent thy sweet smell of car exhaust, mid-September rain, and smog! Onward! Onward, to Life! To Liberty! To unlimited amounts of fabric softener, and the right to proper color-coordination!

Daniel, completely unawares of the revolutionist train of thought his laundry was following, dashed frantically after the cart, which was rapidly approaching maximum velocity and swerving dangerously into the road. The heavy rainfall hindered the poor linguist, who slipped and slid awkwardly; wishing fiercely that he'd bothered to buy contacts instead of insisting upon glasses.

The laundry, whilst thinking happily of such thoughts as brand-name detergent, every other Sunday off, and, of course, the ever-elusive fabric softener, failed to notice the oncoming truck, and Daniel could only watch through rain-streaked glasses as the cart – and all his clothing save for socks and underwear – was run over, the truck honking loudly-­­­­­­­

* * *

Jack O'Neill awoke with a start.

He stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, grey and indistinct in the light of early pre-dawn, the very realistic dream still lingering at the edges of his vision. The very clear, very _strange_ dream.

He stayed like that for a while, in a semi-awake trance, contemplating the fact that he had just dreamed about Daniel, a Laundromat, and a very revolutionist-minded set of clothing. He really would have to ask Doc. Frasier about eventual side-effects of gate-travel: when you could hear and more-or-less understand the thought processes of your best friend's laundry, even in a dream, it could be rather worrisome.

Actually, the dream itself wasn't what was worrisome to Jack, but rather the fact that it was lingering rather insistently, clinging to his conscious mind … and, of course, the fact that the sequence of events actually continued to make _sense_, even as he awakened further. Yes, he would have to ask Doc. Frasier about that.

"No more Chinese food three days in a row," he grumbled to himself, about to turn over and try to catch a few more winks of sleep before the day began. He jumped as, suddenly and jarringly … the phone rang.

Grousing loudly to himself, he hauled himself out of his nice, warm bed into the cold, chill air of the rest of the house and shuffled over to the phone. He picked up the receiver and fairly shouted; "_What_?"

"Hey, Jack."

"Daniel?" Jack exclaimed, bemused. "It's …" he glanced at his clock; "four-forty-five in the morning!" he finished incredulously. "Why are you even _up_?"

"Why are you?" was the archaeologist's succinct reply. Jack growled into the phone.

"Listen, Daniel, what is it? And it better be good," he added threateningly, wishing he was back in bed.

"Well … that is … I was kind of wondering if, maybe, I could come over and, uh …" Daniel stuttered, sounding faintly embarrassed.

"And, uh, _what_?" Jack demanded, feeling increasingly curious as to why Daniel was so uncomfortable.

"And, um, borrow some clothes?" the linguist finished meekly. "See, my washing machine broke down, so I took my clothes over to the Laundromat, and the cart that had my clothes in it rolled out of the building and into the street, and kind of got run over by a truck … and it's raining, and I'm standing in a phone booth, and my clothes are kind of … beyond all hope."

" …"

"Really. Honest to God, I swear that's what happened."

"…"

"Jack, I mean it. I'm not joking, this isn't my thing."

"…"

"Jack, c'mon, answer me."

"…"

"…Jack?"

"…Daniel?"

"Yeah?"

"You _really_ need to use more fabric softener."


End file.
